


Something to Believe In

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Friendship/Love, Gun Violence, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:44:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras doubts; Grantaire gives him something to believe in, even in their final moments together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something to Believe In

**Author's Note:**

> This is a combination of two shorter one-shots I wrote. They worked well enough together with minimal editing that I figured, eh, why not.
> 
> Title and song is, of course, "Something to Believe In" from Newsies.
> 
> Usual disclaimer: if you recognize it, it's not mine.

“ _The world finds ways to sting you_  
 _And then one day decides to bring you_  
 _Something to believe in_  
 _For even a night_  
 _One night may be forever_  
 _But that’s all right_  
 _That’s all right_  
 _And if you’re gone tomorrow_  
 _What was ours still will be_  
 _I have something to believe in_  
 _Now that I know you believed in me_ ”

Grantaire snuck back into the wine shop to grab another bottle of wine, having finished his previous bottle on the barricade earlier that evening. He found the bottle he was looking for and all but collapsed into one of the few chairs that had not been sacrificed to the barricade.

He was halfway into the contents of the bottle when he heard footsteps, and he swiveled to see Enjolras pause in the doorway, eyes downcast, hair disheveled  “Grantaire,” Enjolras said, sounding surprised. “I did not expect anyone to be in here.”

Lifting the bottle slightly, Grantaire muttered, “As always I seek my libation, dear Leader.” He paused, taking in Enjolras’s slightly haggard appearance. “You look as if you could use a drink. Would you not drink with me, even if for just a moment?”

To his immense surprise, Enjolras nodded after only a moment of indecision, sitting down across from him, taking the bottle in his own hand and taking a swig of wine. He handed it back to Grantaire and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, his eyes strangely unfocused. “Thank you,” he told Grantaire softly.

“If you will pardon my saying so, this is not like you, Enjolras.” Grantaire spoke softly, unaccusingly, but worry was clear in his voice. “Please, tell me what is bothering you so, here and now in this place of all places. Surely this is what you wanted?”

Enjolras’s eyes flickered up to him and his lips twisted. “No, this is not what I wanted,” he said. “This is…I…” He broke off, eyes searching Grantaire’s for a brief moment before dropping. “I find myself afraid. Afraid of what is to come, afraid that I have made the wrong choice for us all. Afraid that in the end everything we have fought for shall not come to pass.” His fingers gripped the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles were white. “Tell me that what I’m doing is right.” Enjolras’s voice was a whisper, hoarse and full of more aching pain that Grantaire had ever heard in it, ever imagined he could possibly hear in it. “Tell me that what I’m doing, that what  _we’re_  doing is not in vain.”

Grantaire worried his bottom lip with his teeth, torn between saying the words that would comfort Enjolras the most and saying what he truly thought. “Do you want me to lie?” he asked, his own voice soft, gentle even, truly wanting to know what answer Enjolras desired of him (for Grantaire would always try to give the answer Enjolras desired).

Enjolras’s eyes met his, blue on blue, and after a long moment, he shook his head slowly. “I do not believe you have lied to me before, and I would not ask you to start now. Tell me truthfully, Grantaire. Honesty is all I ask of you now.”

Nodding just once, Grantaire focused on the wood of the table in front of him, sorting through his thoughts to try and come up with something coherent to say to Enjolras, to offer him some modicum of comfort even in the sentiment he was about to express. “You are going to die,” he said finally, bluntly, truthfully. “The people have not stirred and the barricade will fall. I do not doubt you will make as good a stand as you can here at the end, but the end shall come regardless.” He paused, knowing what he said next was the most important thing that he would ever say to Enjolras. “The world will change, Enjolras. Liberty and equality will come to pass, the people shall rise up and overcome. There is no doubt in my mind that this will all come to pass. The world will dawn with a new day and all man will be lit equally in its warmth.”

He made no mention of when this would potentially come to pass, knowing in his heart it would not happen as a direct result of their efforts, that it would take years, decades, centuries even perhaps before it would ever be realized. Enjolras nodded slowly, his gaze turning introspective, some fierce, inner light crossing his expression. “Then it was not in vain. So long as freedom is achieved in part by what we do here, by the lives we sacrifice here, it was not in vain.”

Enjolras stood, his back once against straight and proud, his chin lifted defiantly, his eyes blazing, though they softened when he looked at Grantaire and, tentatively, he set his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. After a long moment, he said softly, “Thank you, my friend.”

Grantaire hesitantly raised his own hand to rest it on top of Enjolras’s, their fingers lacing together for a brief moment. “For you, I would do anything,” he said honestly.

There was another pause until Enjolras said, his voice suddenly gruff, “There is still time. You could leave the barricade. I would not judge you for that.”

They both knew Grantaire could no more leave than Enjolras, and Grantaire gave him a small half-smile. “My place is, and has always been, right here.” He forced a small laugh and nodded toward the bottle that still sat in front of him. “Where there is wine, so too will I be.”

Enjolras nodded, for once not looking disappointed in Grantaire or in his drinking, something far more contemplative in his expression. He squeezed Grantaire’s shoulder in lieu of responding and said quietly, “When you are finished, join us back on the barricade.”

Then Enjolras was gone, back to the men, to his revolution, to his glorious death that would usher in an era of freedom, the only remaining sign of his presence the lingering warmth against Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire picked up the bottle in front of him, rolling it between his fingers. He wondered for just a moment if there had been anything he could have said to make a difference.

It was too late now, and he would never know.

Instead, he drained the bottle and stood, only wobbling slightly for the amount of wine he had imbibed. He looked slowly around the wine shop, memories filling every corner, his hand pressed against the table, though whether for balance or for comfort, he did not know.

Then he shook his head, and left to return to the barricade, to take his place where always it had been.

* * *

 

“Long live the Republic! I am one of them.”

Grantaire crossed the room to take his place next to Enjolras, his chin held high, his red-rimmed eyes blazing as he stared squarely at the National Guardsmen, defiant at the end. “Finish us both with one blow,” he commanded firmly, no trace of trepidation in his features, voice not wavering even as the Guardsmen raised their rifles.

As if remembering the man next to him for the first time, Grantaire turned to Enjolras and asked in a quiet, gentle voice, hoping he would receive the answer that he craved, that he so longed for, “Do you permit it?”

In lieu of an answer, Enjolras took his hand and squeezed it, favoring Grantaire with a smile.

He was still smiling as the National Guardsmen fired, and both men fell heavily to the ground, both pierced by several rounds. The Guardsmen looked at them carefully, making sure the wounds were fatal, and then turned to round up any remaining revolutionaries, leaving the men to their death.

Grantaire turned to Enjolras, breathing heavily, his eyes dim. “Enjolras,” he rasped, pulling himself towards the blond man, who was leaning against the wall, his eyes half-closed. “Enjolras.”

Enjolras turned his head slowly towards Grantaire, a small trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth, his eyes dazed. “Grantaire.” His voice sounded heavy, so unlike his normal soaring rhetoric, and he reached slowly for Grantaire’s fingers. “Why?”

“Why what?” Grantaire asked, propping himself against the wall, tightening his grip on Enjolras’s fingers, holding on to them as if they were his last remaining lifeline.

Making a minute gesture with his free hand as if to encapsulate Grantaire’s entire unexpected performance that day, Enjolras repeated, “Why? You…never believed in this. In us.”

Grantaire shook his head slowly. “Always…believed…in you.” He managed a small smile, his teeth blood-flecked, his smile pained. “Still do. Despite our…situation.”

Enjolras snorted, leaning his head back against the wall, breathing labored. “You had…a funny way…of showing it.” He rolled his head against the wall to look at Grantaire, squeezing his hand lightly, his grip beginning to fail. “But you are here now.”

“I am,” Grantaire said simply, blinking against the darkness that was beginning to bloom in front of his eyes, darkness he could not afford to let himself fall into. Not now. Not yet.

Enjolras released Grantaire’s hand and Grantaire made a small noise of protest, until Enjolras reached out to try and tug him by his waistcoat closer to him. Understanding what Enjolras was attempting to accomplish, Grantaire dragged himself closer, wincing at the pain that shot through his body at the motion. Enjolras pulled him as tight to his body as he could, and Grantaire let his head loll against Enjolras’s shoulder, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “Don’t…don’t…” Enjolras started, his breath stuttering in his chest.

Grantaire’s eyes snapped open, and he reached up with trembling fingers to brush them lightly against Enjolras’s cheek. “Be easy,” he whispered. “I will not go until you do.”

Nodding, Enjolras swallowed hard, though his breath was beginning to whistle slightly as he gasped for air. “The day…embraces the night…and says…I will die with you…and you…will be born again…with me.”

“Do not make promises you cannot keep,” Grantaire rasped. “Of all the beautiful…things you have said…do not lie to me now.”

“Never,” Enjolras whispered. “Never, my friend. This is not a promise, but a guarantee. You said…you said you believed in me.”

Grantaire’s head nodded against Enjolras’s shoulder, his chest heaving. “I do. I do.”

Enjolras used what may have been his last remaining strength to grasp Grantaire’s hand again. “Then believe me when I say, you have been the bravest of us all.” Grantaire shook his head and started to speak, but Enjolras cut him off with just a touch of his old fire. “No! Listen. We…we do not have much time left. But I will not let you go without telling you this. You say you have believed in me, have shown me such at the end. But I…I have always believed in you.”

He sagged slightly, his strength fading, and Grantaire pulled him closer to him, letting Enjolras rest his cheek against Grantaire’s head. “I believe you,” he whispered, his eyes growing glassy, his breath and speech strained. “I believe in you. I love you, have always loved you. And now…now I can die in peace, for now my life is blessed.”

Pressing his cheek against Grantaire’s dark curls was the only response Enjolras could give, his breathing beginning to come out in gasps as his lungs failed, and his grip on Grantaire’s hand was loosening. With as much strength as he had left, Grantaire held Enjolras’s hand tighter. “Wait…for me…my friend. When you go…wait…for I will not…be far behind.”

In fact, Grantaire could feel his life slip away, as surely as he could feel Enjolras going still in his arms, but he refused to close his eyes, refused to relinquish this last image of Enjolras. Bloody and battered though he was, Grantaire did not think he had ever seen anything so beautiful. Enjolras slowly turned his head, his lips pressing against Grantaire’s head, and the breath caught in Grantaire’s throat.

It was everything he had ever wanted, in a moment that he had never imagined.

Then Enjolras went still, even stiller than before, his eyelids closing for the last time over those stormy blue eyes, and Grantaire let his own eyes closed, seeking the dark that would reunite him with Enjolras. “I…believe…in…you…” he mouthed, his voice failing, and then he was silent and still, arm dropping from its grip around Enjolras’s waist.

In the back room where they had been left to die, Enjolras and Grantaire lay propped against the wall, crimson blood staining both their clothes, leaning into each other, in their final moments lending each other strength, their hands still clasped together.

 

 


End file.
